Death Eternal
by TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel
Summary: Sixteen years ago a fragment of Killing Curse entered Harry’s soul. Now, on the battlefield, he sets it loose. AU. Oneshot.


**Title: Death Eternal**

**Author: TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel**

**Summary: Sixteen years ago a fragment of Killing Curse entered Harry's soul. Now, on the battlefield, he sets it loose. AU.**

**Pairings: Harry/Luna. Believe me, it was as big a surprise to me as it is to you.**

**Author Notes:**

_This is just a little thing I wrote to pass the time. I don't consider it very good, but hey. Since then I've written an alternative version which is much better, and quite a bit longer, which I will eventually post up under the title of _Death Incarnate. _I was just going to discard this one, but decided that while not particularly good it redeems itself a little near the end._

**ATTENTION:**

_If you're going to read this, please read _Death Incarnate _when I post it up._

**-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

**DEATH ETERNAL**

**-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

Harry stood on the battlefield, weary and desperate. In front of him Voldemort laughed. He knew how close Harry was to collapse. How close he was to winning.

Harry Potter's eyes, everyone always said, were like his mothers. "Remember Lily's eyes?" people said when they were in a reminiscent mood. "They were so green. So beautiful."

No one ever seemed to realise that Harry Potter's eyes were almost the bright green of the Killing Curse, while Lily Potter's had been the clear shade of emeralds.

No one ever noticed, either, that a fragment of Killing Curse had lodged in his soul.

The human soul knows quite well what does and does not belong, and from his earliest days Harry carefully walled away and suppressed the little bit of soul that had been tainted. Over the years Harry suppressed and buried that fragment of soul so deeply that he managed to even forget it was there.

Now, as he faced certain doom, Harry was willing to do anything to change the odds. Something stirred.

Long-forgotten memories came back to him like a half-forgotten dream. Harry frowned in concentration. There had been a part of him, once that he had always tried to get rid of, wasn't there?

(He ducked as a bludgeoning curse was sent his way.)

Deep down, Harry had known it was dangerous, far too dangerous to ever be set loose, so he had packed it a way in a little box and pushed it away. Why?

The more he thought, the more Harry became sure that he needed to remember. Voldemort was getting read to kill him, and if Harry was killed everything was lost. He had to _remember!_

"Time to die, Harry," Voldemort said softly.

As Voldemort's wand tip ignited with green, Harry dived deep, casting his mind back to the deepest recesses of memory, frantically searching for the part of him that he had repressed and buried.

Harry found it.

As the Killing Curse left Voldemort's wand, Harry straightened. Somehow as he did so he seemed to lengthen, to grow taller and thinner as his robes were suddenly stretching up to form a hood over his head as the Killing Curse hit him. Harry stayed standing.

Next moment a scythe appeared in his hand with a tiny _snick._

Voldemort stared at the scythe in the pale thing hand, at the blacker-than-black robes. Harry's face had somehow turned skeletal, filled with hollows and shadows where there should have been none. His eyes burned a glowing _Avada Kedavra_ green.

"No!" the Dark Lord went staggering back, bleached-bone white and red eyes wild with incredulous fear. "You can't – that's impossible – I –"

**SILENCE.**

The voice resonated across the battlefield with the power of a battering-ram. Everything stopped.

Death stared at the cowering man in front of him whom so many feared.

**YOU EVADED DEATH. YOU UPSET THE BALANCE. THE UNIVERSE TOOK ACTION.** He fingered his scar. **ME.**

He took a step forward.

"No!" Voldemort was yelling, shrieking really, scrambling backwards, "you can'r do this to me! I'm the Dark Lord Voldemort! I'm _immortal!_ I'm –"

The blade swished.

The scythe landed in the dirt as Harry sank to his knees, battling the force that had taken control of him. He'd let it out and it had served its purpose, but it had spread to the rest of his soul and now he was struggling to subdue it. It was inexorable, cold, relentless, sinking sternly into his soul and binding with it.

Harry suddenly knew how infinity felt, an eternity of years stretching out before and behind him, as he stood alone, emotions long gone and only the irresistible pull of the Duty giving him purpose as everything came to an end, the light was extinguished from the universe –

"_**NO!**_"

The cry still vibrated forebodingly through every dimension, but this time there was human anguish in it as Harry fought not to lose himself.

"**NO**," he gasped out, a new strength flooding through him, like sunlight against the darkness, "**I AM HARRY POTTER!**"

It seemed to take an eternity, but slowly, achingly, Harry beat down the cold unbending power of Death until he was kneeling, sore and tired, but _mortal_.

Unutterably relieved, Harry finally allowed himself to pass out.

**o0o o0o o0o**

Luna entered the hospital wing the next day to visit her friend. If she noticed that Harry looked slightly paler than normal, or that his eyes were a brighter green, she made no mention of it.

"I brought you some oranges and dragonfruit," she said calmly, clearing a space among cards and sweets to place the basket. "They help repair magical pathways."

"**Thanks**," Harry said. His voice still resonated slightly, unnerving those who knew what it could become. No one had forgotten the icy voice that had echoed painfully through their heads.

Again, Luna did not seem to notice. Instead, sitting down, she tipped her head to one side and gazed at Harry. He simply watched her in return.

"It's never going to go away," Luna observed. For once Harry understood. He close his eyes.

"**No**," he agreed softly. "**Before, it was just one tiny fragment of soul, but when I let it out, let it take me over… it spread to my entire soul. There is not a single part of me now that is not, in one way or another, Death. I can't truly suppress it. You're always going to be able to tell, if you know the signs**."

Hermione and Ron had seen them. They'd fidgeted, and shuffled, and chattered meaninglessly, carefully tiptoeing around what Luna had just come out and bluntly said. They'd tried so hard to behave as though everything was normal – forgetting that things never _were_ normal around Harry – that they made it abundantly clear that things had irrevocably changed. Harry desperately wanted to explain, but Ron and Hermione walled off the topic so completely that Harry never said a word. Now it hung between them like a chasm, full of everything that had gone unsaid. It was a relief to talk to Luna, who didn't pretend; she saw what was really there. It was a form of wisdom really, Harry thought, a form so rare that non one ever understood enough to appreciate it.

Pale blue eyes, leached of color, regarded him.

"Then everyone will know who you really are," Luna said simply. Harry smiled, deathspell-green eyes searching winter-blue ones.

"**No,**" Harry said softly but with utter sincerity, "**only you will ever do that, I think**." He rested his hand on top of hers.

Luna's eyes were wide, and very open.

"Oh," was all she said. "Are you sure?"

With the new percipience that being Death had brought, Harry only wondered why he hadn't seen it before.

"I'm sure."

The eternity still lurked at the centre of his soul, and the power flowed just below the surface, but Harry wasn't worried. His humanity had something to hold onto that was even stronger than death.

**END**

**-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

**AN:**

_I'd had a vague idea of Harry-as-Death for months, and then I read "_Mort_" by Terry Pratchett, and suddenly I saw how it might work. No doubt his readers will recognise the influence. But if you're going to write about a Death, Pratchett's books __have__ to have an influence somewhere. Somehow he captures the essence of 'the' ideal Death character in everyone's minds._

_This story was also partly inspired by "Hell Hath No Fury." I won't tell you what it's about because that would ruin it, but I thought it was brilliant._

_As I said I will be writing an alternate version to this, which is much better, quite a bit longer, and rather dark, actually._


End file.
